Lessons in Humility

Considering the status of my lawbreaking detractors as industry stars and workers, I feel rather foolish for telling you earlier this year that crimes with my work have no industry support. And now I hear that my song Rules was also recently illegally recorded and performed behind my back. Rules is a song that would win people's hearts because I wrote it in 2012 for former Crystalids fans, in the spirit of conciliation, to offer them hope about our future together. It's a song about hope and truth and human weakness and love; a very warm, decent song. And I wrote it because I wanted my fans to have something new and original that we could share after four hours of the music I already struggled to write and record for them were ruined by the nasty crime of music fraud. Now I guess I feel a little different about it. And so do my music fans, I'm sure. So this character's name was David, right? David Duke? Who does the industry have lined up for 2017 to present as the owner of the songs I'm sharing now? David Karesh? I bet this guy was popular on FOX News. Did they tell everyone that he was my spirit? And now I know why I've been having such a hard time with my music: because 'I look like a Jew'. It's a good thing your broadcasters elevate people with this kind of important information to a place in the clouds where they can shout it down to me as I limp home from the library every day, otherwise I'd be getting my hopes up. How long has this crime against my work been going on now? I think it started with that play I wrote in 1999, didn't it? Sixteen years. And if I manage to win a crowd with my music fans, will I be able to keep performing until I'm sixty-six? Oh boy. Hope I don't get arthritis. All this crime with my work has taught me some humiliating lessons about myself: I'm smelly, I'm unattractive, I'm pathetic, I'm a bum, and perhaps most important of all, I'm insignificant. And I suffer from all these defects because I'm not on TV. It's a good thing I pray to a God who submitted to the puny authority of Earthly power and allowed himself to be stripped naked and pinned to a cross or I would have very little motivation to go on living. I wonder if it's the same God worshiped by all the Christians who played a role in this latest crime against my life and my heart. Footnote: 2:14pm: I was passing by the MacDonald's on Pender and Hastings at around 1:00pm earlier today when I heard a woman shout: Go back to Nirvana, you prostitute! This is the second time I've heard this in the last couple of months. The first time, I dismissed it, thinking it must have been intended for someone else. So now I must offer some kind of response to it, since it was shouted very loudly and heard by a number of bystanders. Let's start with the source of the remark. Do you all think it was this poor unfortunate street person? I don't. I would see her as a helpless pawn in the grip of one or more of the evil stars I've been prosecuting in this account. Now, why Nirvana? Is it because I want to move to Seattle? Is that the only rock star these people think came from Seattle? What about Jimi Hendrix? Is he not Aryan enough for their consideration? He's one of my all time favorite authors and performers. Or was this a reference to Buddhism? I thought I made it clear that I'm a Christian. And as for being a prostitute, don't prostitutes get paid money for their services? How did they confuse a rape victim like me with a prostitute? Why don't these evil stars tear themselves away from watching themselves on the TV for a few minutes to read my poem, The Servant? It will teach them what I think of their Heaven. Notice how I've dedicated it to my mother, whose email I've not been able to respond to in over a week because I'm so entangled in this struggle against their absurd hate that I keep forgetting about her while I'm here. She's quite old and worried sick about me. I hope she's still alive to receive my response. TV viewers, in spite of the Satanic crimes of your television networks, the following poem is not a work of humor. The Servant (Copyright 2007, 2015. David Skerkowski.) The servant considered it a winning trade To submit to her master's ridiculous pride In exchange for her share of the fortune he made And for having the loftiest place to reside His great hall resounded with glorious mirth As the highest nobility gathered to play From their perch they could look down upon the whole Earth And be sure that below them is where it would stay Amid sights that would dazzle and sounds that would please Her misgivings extinguished as soon as they rose And her chores were completed with relative ease To the common array of laborious woes Though among the cloud dwellers her position was low Over most other people she felt she'd been raised For the clouds were as high as a person could go And the master who's great has a servant who's praised After cleaning and straightening up for the day To her quarters she went for a well deserved rest And as usual gave up a moment to pray When to her surprise at her side stood a guest He was far more impressive in appearance to those Who had come to cavort and to gloat at the view But to call himself 'servant' he happily chose As he held her hand tight and away they both flew Past the moon and the planets, at the speed of a thought They traveled through space as in wonder she stared Until even the sun had become a mere dot And with vast constellations the heavens they shared Then they came to a gate which to them gave way And at once they were bathed in a rapturous glow Of a brilliant kingdom whose finest house lay Where her able companion and she were to go Its floor was a weave that was kind to the feet Its walls were adorned in colors that danced At a bountiful table she took a plush seat And her inquiry of this promotion she chanced The other sat too and he picked up a lyre To expertly strum as he spoke his reply: 'To see and to know of the places much higher Than that stoop so constrained by the Earth's tiny sky 'The self-centered fool sees his place at the top As for any and all the ultimate peak From whence further advancement must pointlessly stop And base hedonism alone were to seek 'On the shallow perception of others below His flimsy position completely depends But without the heart to independent gain know Where his triumph begins it just as soon ends 'As his servant you toiled, content in your place From the loftiest perch did you still think to pray Reaching up to the stars for divinity's grace With a soul so inclined may it visit and stay 'But behold your proud master, once loved and admired Unassailable but from the law's mighty arm His presumptuous reign has this moment expired And his legacy won't be of beauty but harm 'Against one's own fellows gain is not absolute But with God to oneself is it truly secure And the stem of your master had down at its root The life of another who he left sad and poor!' In a blink she returned to her former abode Which she had the full run of, her betters now gone But its charm was so spoiled by what her servant showed That she packed her belongings and elsewhere moved on
Arguments Copyright Issues Comedy Sketches Cartoons Lyrics Poems
More Statements Scripts Songs
© 2015. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.